'The death of one of these noisy belligerents being determined on, I looked round my room for the tools of retribution. Not a moveable thing, however, could I discover, save a new pitcher, which had been sent home that very day, and to which my name and address were appended on a bit of card. I clutched it with desperate fury, and pouring into my bowl the water contained in it, I poised it in my hand for the deadly heave. I had been a member of a quoit club in the country, and the principles of a clever throw were familiar to me. I resolved to make the vessel describe what is called in philosophy a _parabolic curve_, so that while it knocked out the brains of one combatant, it should effectually admonish the survivor of the iniquity of his doings. I approached the window--balanced the pitcher--and then drave it home. Its reception was acknowledged by a loud, choking squall--a faint yell of agony, and then a respectful silence. Satisfied that my pitcher had been broken at the fountain of life, and that the silent tabby would not soon tune her pipes again, I retired to bed, and slept with the serenity and comfort of one who is conscious of having performed a virtuous action. 'In the morning, the cat was found 'keeled up' on a bed of pinks, with her head broken in, and her ancient and venerable whiskers dabbled in blood. The shattered pitcher lay by her side. The vessel had done its worst--so had my victim.' The story proper, upon the consecutive incidents of which we shall not touch, closes with the annexed whimsical anecdote: 'An anonymous wag not long ago, placed an advertisement in each of our city journals, signed by an eminent house on the Delaware wharf, and stating that FIVE HUNDRED CATS were wanted immediately by the firm. The said firm in the meantime knew nothing of the matter. 'On visiting their counting-house the next morning, the partners found the streets literally blocked up with enterprising cat-sellers. Huge negroes were there, each with ten or fifteen sage, grave tabbies tied together with a string. Old market-women had brought thither whole families of the feline genus, from the superannuated _Tom_, to the blind kitten. The air resounded with the squallings of the quadrupedal multitude. New venders, with their noisy property, were seen thronging to the place from every avenue. ''What'll you _guv_ me for this 'ere lot?' said a tall shad-woman, pressing up toward the counting-room. 'The newspapers says you allows liberal prices. I axes a dollar a piece for the old 'uns, and five levys for the kittens.'